


Compass To The North

by Winterotter



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: BAMF Arya Stark, BAMF Jon Snow, F/M, Game of Thrones Spoilers, Gen, Ghost is the best doggo, Hints of Jon Snow/Tormund Giantsbane, Jon Snow Knows Something, M/M, Mentions of Robb Stark, Past Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Post-Episode: s08e04 The Last of the Starks, Post-Game of Thrones, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Spoilers, Stark Siblings - Freeform, This ended up sort of canon complaint?, potential ending for Game of Thrones, the goodbyes are different and some details...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-02-27 12:15:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18738826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterotter/pseuds/Winterotter
Summary: Jon makes a decision and the Starks must learn to accept it.A multi-chapter work set after The Game is over and covering a potential ending for the show.





	1. The Queen in the North

**Author's Note:**

> The last couple of seasons have been sadly lacking in scenes between Jon and his sisters and Ghost. I wrote this to rectify that a bit and to try to salvage some of Jon's character. This fic is set in a possible future for the show, more details to be found in the fic.

 

* * *

 

"There are just… somethings I don't understand," Sansa said. It was an understatement the likes of which she wasn't disposed to. She'd grown used to speaking her mind here in Winterfell, with Jon. But her head was reeling, her stomach clenching until she was light headed. "I don't understand, Jon, please help me understand."

 

Jon made a huffing noise, that strange cross between a laugh and a tired sigh that reminded her all too much of her father. Sansa tried to find a hint of his thoughts in his expression but his face was turned towards the weirwood tree. "When did you decide?"

 

"Does it matter?" It was the first thing Jon had said since she tracked him down. The only thing he'd said, really, since dropping his decision on her over breakfast.

 

She'd been too stunned to press him. Too aware of the banner-men, soldiers and northern lords who were still lingering in their halls. She'd had to face the reality of Winterfell without him over the last year - but it had always been with the idea that he'd come back. That being without her brother was a temporary state, not a permanent one.

 

Beside her Jon shifted, turning to fully look at her.

 

"Of course it matters," Sansa said, "You were so defeated when we first reunited. I had to talk you into taking back Winterfell, I can't help but wonder if this was always your plan."

 

"The Night King was still a threat then."

 

"Then when - Jon, just tell me when you decided to abandon us. Truly abandon us, not just to honor your oaths to a foreign Queen, but to leave for good." She turned away from him, pacing a short distance away. She clasped her shaking hands in front of her where he couldn't see them.

 

"You never breathed a word about going with them… about renouncing any claim you hold for the Iron Throne or for the North," she added.

 

Something she'd said got his attention because he moved, circling around to stand in front of her.

 

"I decided when I sent Ghost with Tormund. I never would have sent him off if I didn't intend to join him," he stepped closer, resting his hands on her shoulders, "or die trying."

 

She held back a flinch, all too aware of how close he'd come to doing the latter rather than the former. "Why didn't you go then? If you were going to renounce all your claims and titles anyway, why not do it then?"

 

He tilted his head forward in an invitation she could never find it in herself to rebuke or refuse. Sansa mirrored him and pressed their foreheads together, her hands unclasping to reach up and cover his.

 

"I don't regret bending the knee to my aunt," Jon said, "I truly think she wouldn't have risked so much of herself and her armies to help us if I hadn't. She needed to be secure in her power to risk so much."

 

Sansa bit back the response on the tip of her tongue - they'd had this argument before and neither of them ever won it within any real margin of success.

 

"But there were consequences to my actions I didn't foresee. I brought her home and gave her more legitimacy than I thought I would. I always underestimated how much sway I had, even as the Bastard King in the North. The bastard bit was always there, invalidating everything that came after."

 

"Not to me," Sansa said, "or to Arya."

 

"I know," Jon nudged her forehead affectionately. "Daenerys wasn't the ruler I thought she could be and I had inadvertently given her my blessing, given her more legitimacy in the Seven Kingdoms. You didn't accept my decision but much of the North did and that spread South."

 

He sighed, his breath warm against her face. "I had to fix it, I had to ensure she either became a worthy ruler or wasn't our ruler at all. I couldn't live with the possibility that I'd spent my life saving the realm from the Night King only to doom it to a new tyrant."

 

Sansa pulled back so she could look him in the eye. "You went South to keep her from following in her father's footsteps, one way or another?"

 

"And to win the North's independence," Jon said, "no matter who ended up on the throne. I owed you, owed the North, that much."

 

"It could have been you on the throne, Jon," Sansa said, "that would have been just as good as independence."

 

Jon shook his head, "would it have been? My children would have been raised in the South, Stark only by blood, and it would have diluted from there. No, my ending up on the throne was never an option, not in my mind."

 

"You would have been good at it," she said, angling to catch his gaze again when he tried to look away, "No, Jon, you would have been a good king, better than most."

 

He smiled, the lines around his eyes crinkling with it, "You've always had more faith in me than I give you credit for."

 

This time it was her glancing away, her cheeks warming.

 

"So you did what you set out to do, in a manner of speaking. The Iron Throne has been dissolved, the Seven Kingdoms all have their independence, and as far as we can tell none of them are being ruled by a tyrant. Why leave now?" Sansa squeezed his hands as he started to pull away, not letting him escape.

 

"Is it because they named me Queen in the North? Is that why you're truly leaving?"

 

Jon blinked, stared, and then forcefully stepped back. He pulled his gloves out of his belt and began slipping them back on, carefully, one hand at a time. He rubbed his gloved hands together, smoothing the wrinkles.

 

"Is that truly what you think of me? That I would resent you being in power?" he asked, "what happened to the faith you had in me? Or did that only apply to my ability to lead and not to my character."

 

"Well -"

 

"You wouldn't be making that assumption if I was your trueborn brother. Because you didn't have a problem with Arya deciding to go off and travel the world. You didn't question whether she was leaving over your rise to power. Because at the end of the day you trust her to be loyal to you, but you don't extend that to me. I'm either your bastard brother or your cousin from a rival family, neither of which is as trustworthy as a trueborn Stark sibling."

 

His last sentence echoed in the quiet of the Godswood, even the birds falling silent. Sansa stilled even her breathing.

 

"Come close, Jon." She said, forcing her voice to be steady.

 

He just looked at her, his dark eyes big and hurt.

 

"That wasn't a request."

 

Sansa waited, her stance graceful and poised and entirely stiff. Her lips were numb. _Please forgive me_ , was all she could think.

 

"As you wish, My Queen," he stepped closer, stopping just short of where he'd been standing before. Close enough to press their foreheads together again.

 

Instead, she slapped him.

 

"Jon," She whispered. "That isn't what I meant and you know it. You were King, you should be King over all of us, that's what makes you different from Arya. Not who your parents were or whether you're legitimate."

 

She reached forward to cup his face, her fingertips brushing at the scars there.

 

"You were just used as a tool to drive support away from another Queen, against your own wishes and despite saying you didn't want the throne." Sansa said, her voice back to a normal volume, "I'm worried you're leaving because you think that's what I want, or to protect my legitimacy, not because you don't support my rule."

 

"I'm asking you not to leave for my sake, or out of some misguided idea of nobility."

 

Jon was quiet for several heartbeats and she worried she'd said too much, been too harsh. He'd been so weak with blood loss and grief when he'd arrived, he shouldn't be out of bed much less breathing the icy air and arguing with her.

 

"Forgive me, Sansa," he said after a moment, turning his face to kiss one palm and then the other. "I don't play the game well and the last few years of being forced to hasn't taught me better. I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions."

 

Sansa smiled at him.

 

"I'll forgive you if you forgive me, and if you swear to me that you'll only travel north of the wall if that's truly what you want."

 

He smiled again, "it is. I'm of the North Sansa, we both are, but my place isn't here in Winterfell. Not anymore."

 

"You spent too much time with the Wildlings," Sansa tried to joke, her voice cracking despite her best efforts. "I will miss you, brother."

 

He tugged her into a hug, squeezing her tight, "And I you, little sister."

 

Sansa wrapped her arms around him, turning her face into his neck.

 

"I may have made a good King," Jon said into her ear, "but you'll make an even better Queen."

 

She sagged into him, his confidence lifting a weight from her shoulders. He held her up and tugged her closer.

 

"But it’s your turn to promise me something."

 

"Anything."

 

"Don't wall yourself off forever. Find a good man that you trust and have a whole pack of children, enough to ensure there will always be a Stark in Winterfell."

 

Sansa's eyes stung and she choked back a sob.

 

"Will you come back and visit?"

 

"If my Queen wishes it, I will."

 

"You must, one day you'll have nieces and nephews to spoil and awe with all your tales of white walkers, dire wolves, and dragons."

 

Jon chuckled pressing a kiss to the side of her head, "I look forward to it."

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter is Arya's :)
> 
> I'm saving the best (i.e. Ghost) for last


	2. No One in the North

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I started this chapter focused on Jon and Arya but I’m currently rewatching season 1 and Robb kind of snuck into this... whoops

* * *

 

“I’ve taken the liberty of having our horses prepared,” Arya said, “Sansa requested we send a raven once we’re safe.”

 

Jon looked up from where he’d been tugging on his boots. “I see you decided to journey with me. Sansa’s not seeing us off?”

 

“I’ll go with you as far as The Wall,” she said, stepping fully into his room and shutting the door behind her to keep out the chill. “As for our sister, you know how she feels about drawn-out goodbyes.”

 

“Aye, I do,” Jon said with a tight smile. His expression was weary, signs of his lingering pain still there. He stood up and grabbed his cloak from where it had been draped across his bed.

 

Arya darted forward and snatched it from him, “allow me, your ribs must still be tender.”

 

She frowned when he didn’t offer a token protest and instead stooped over to make it easier for her to toss the cloak over and around his shoulders. She fastened it and adjusted it until it was sitting right, her hands finding and lingering on the Stark family sigils carefully embroidered on the leather straps.

 

Arya gripped the leather until her knuckles turned white, her gaze fixed on the dire wolves.

 

“You've never worn the Targaryen sigil or anything like it,” she said.

 

“It was supposed to be a secret,” Jon said, his tone gentle. He carefully removed her hands, letting her grip onto him instead.

 

“For a time,” she agreed, “but even now that it’s common knowledge…” she trailed off unsure how to finish that sentence without sounding like she was judging him for showcasing his Stark side in place of his Targaryen.

 

Jon sighed and straightened up. “I always wanted to be legitimate, Arya, but there was only one family, one surname I wanted.”

 

Jon Stark, Arya thought, sounded much better than Aegon Targaryen.

 

She squeezed his hands and let go, stepping back a bit as she regained control of herself.

 

“You only need request it and Sansa would legitimize you, take you officially into the Stark family.”

 

“She can’t legitimize someone who’s not a bastard,” Jon pointed out, “I may have renounced my claims but that doesn’t make me illegitimate again, I‘m still a Targaryen.”

 

Arya placed her hands on her hips and glared at her stubborn brother, “you wouldn’t be the first to choose to go by your mother’s family name. No one would object to you going by Stark.”

 

He smiled at her, an odd expression on his face. For a moment, she thought he was going to reach out and ruffle her hair the way he and Robb had done when they were small, when the worst hardship they faced was Jon being separated from them when nobility visited Winterfell. Instead, he ran his hand through his own hair, his curls loose for once instead of pulled back.

 

“After all these years, the name Snow has grown on me. But it’s no matter, where I’m going the only name I’m known by is Jon.”

 

Arya smirked, “or little crow?”

 

He scowled at her, the playful glint in his eyes livening his expression. “Watch yourself, baby sister, only Tormund has earned the right to call me such.”

 

For a moment they held their standoff, her smirk, and his scowl, before breaking into laughter.

 

Jon shook his head, rueful, “I needed that.”

 

“Yes,” she agreed, “you did.”

 

* * *

 

 

Riding out of Winterfell always reminded him of the fateful day his family had split up at the request of King Robert. Of watching his father and sisters head south while he went further north.

 

Most of all, it reminded him of the last time he’d seen Robb. The boy who he hadn’t seen grow into a man. They’d thought themselves men grown when they’d parted that day, but he knew they hadn’t been.

 

None of them had been, not until they either witnessed or heard about their father's execution.

 

He and Arya turned their horses without a signal to take one last look at their childhood home before it was lost over over the horizon and behind the forest.

 

“Sansa’s on the ramparts,” Arya said from beside him, pointing.

 

Their sister’s red hair was easy to spot, a banner of red against the grey stone.

 

He smiled despite the clench in his gut. Robb had done the same when Jon has left that day, his own hair a darker auburn but just as visible if you looked for it. And he had looked.

 

Arya lowered her arm, dancing her horse sideways so she could reach out and shove his shoulder.

 

“Jon?”

 

“Do you think we’re making a mistake? Leaving Winterfell?” Leaving Sansa like they’d left Robb? 

 

She didn’t answer at first and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Sansa’s distant silhouette long enough to judge her expression.

 

“Bran wouldn’t have let us leave if we were,” she said finally. “Daenerys going mad like her father doesn’t doom the rest of us to repeating history, Jon.”

 

He flinched, his gaze darting to her and away again with surprise. She had always been the sibling who saw through him the easiest. Not even Robb had seen through him at times, but Arya always had.

 

And she knew how to cut him to the quick.

 

“Sansa is Queen in the North and all the other kingdoms are too busy re-learning how to be independent again to bother with the North,” she continued, just as quick to soothe as to wound, “she swore that she’d send a raven to us if there was even a small sign that she might need us.”

 

“When did you get so wise?” He asked, even though he knew the answer.

 

She smirked at him and guided her horse back on to the path, “I bet you tonight’s latrine duty that I can beat you to the tree line.”

 

Jon grinned, turning his horse about, “I’ll take that bet.”

 

Before he could ask who would give the signal, Arya nudged her horse and set off at a canter.

 

He followed after her with a shout, the wind tangling his curls and the sound of wolves howling in his mind.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was Arya’s chapter, I had a bit of trouble because in the show she seems a lot closer to Sansa than Jon despite it having been the opposite when they were kids. Their interaction in this chapter goes off the idea that they eventually regained that closeness. 
> 
> Next is Ghost’s chapter (with a side of Tormund)


	3. The Best Doggo in the North (ft. Tormund Giant’s Milk)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! 
> 
> Of note: In the books, there are a lot of hints that Jon can warg with Ghost. This fic references that. Also, Ghost shrunk in s8 (seriously he was shown to be bigger as far back as s3) - in this he’s as big as he should be.
> 
> **possible spoilers** After episode 5 I’m actually more confident my ending may be fairly plausible. When I started writing this I didn't think it was a likely ending for the show or for Jon (as much as I would want it to be) but after ep.5 I’m pretty convinced that Jon is going to kill Daenerys and then run north so no one can make him king lol **possible spoilers**

* * *

 

It takes time, of course, to reach the wall and make it north of it. But for Jon, it seems to pass in a blink of the eye.

 

Arya had stayed one night with him at Castle Black, allowing the odd mix of brothers from the Watch and Wildings to feed them and wheedle tales out of them. When he woke the next morning she was gone. There was a note reminding him to send a raven to Sansa before he left the wall sitting on her still warm pillow - no one in his family cared for goodbyes any more and he couldn't cast stones since he felt the same.

 

He rode through the tunnel not long after finding her gone, he hadn’t risked getting talked into staying another night.  He paused on the other side of the wall, closing his eyes as the true northern wind tugged at his cloak and brushed against his skin. The only sound to  be heard  was the wind howling and the creak of the gate  being lowered  behind him.

 

The wildlings left in Castle Black had said the snow had cleared enough for Tormund to lead his people through a sennight ago. They hadn't known which direction he was planning to go.

 

Jon wasn't worried. He left his eyes closed and  slowly  blocked out his own surroundings.  Instead, he thought of running through the woods, his loping tread light enough to cross over the deepest snow and not fall through. Of a belly overfull from a fresh kill, the taste of blood in his mouth.

  

_Ghost._

 

He opened his eyes to a world covered in white, surrounded by trees and ice. His pace was so quick that the trees whipped by in a blur. In the distance he could hear people talking and laughing, the sound of fire crackling. His pace slowed, turning to head towards the noise. In three leaps he'd cleared the forest line.

 

In front of him was a free folk camp, smoke rising from  multiple  campfires. A figure stood up from where he'd been kneeling by the closest fire.

 

"There you are, wolf, you missed dinner. But I see you fed yourself.”

 

_Tormund._

 

Jon jolted, his eyes opening. His horse danced underneath him  uneasily  and he was back at the wall.

 

He smiled and set off northwest, following the tug in his chest, his link to the other half of his soul.

 

 

* * *

  

“Hey, boy,” Jon murmured two days later as he came back to his makeshift camp to find Ghost sitting by his fire.

  

His wolf had grown again, the true north allowing him to flourish. He wasn’t much smaller than his horse now. Jon set down the kindling he’d been gathering, crouching down in front of the dire wolf.

 

Ghost tilted his head but didn’t move to close the distance as he usually would. Jon swallowed, guilt settling in his stomach.

 

“I’m sorry I sent you away, boy, but you were better off with Tormund. You wouldn’t like the south, I didn’t much like it either.”

 

For a moment Ghost continued to stare at him and then he lunged forward, head butting Jon in the chest and knocking him flat on his back  . He blinked up at the sky, the snow beneath him wetting his hair and his back. His view of the sky  was blocked by  Ghost hovering over him, his cold nose nudging at his cheek. Jon chuckled, reaching up to bury his hands in Ghost’s fur.

 

“I missed you, buddy,” he choked out, his eyes stinging as Ghost licked his face. Ghost whined, settling across Jon, pinning him to the ground with his weight. He didn’t need to be able to speak to tell Jon that he wouldn’t  be allowed  to leave him again. Jon's hands found his ears, scratching him the way he knew Ghost loved. The last of the tension Jon’d been carrying eased away.

 

“Well now, isn’t that a sight,”

 

Jon turned his head as footsteps approached, white and grey boots coming to a stop by his right shoulder. He craned his neck but couldn’t see anything else around Ghost’s bulk.

 

“Shove off, wolf, you’re not the only one who wants to say hello.”

 

Ghost rumbled a protest but  slowly  stood and moved off of Jon. He  barely  had a chance to take an unrestricted breath before hands were grabbing him and lifting him up. He stumbled but the same hands steadied him.  

 

Tormund grinned at him, his hands patting his shoulder before moving to his back and sides. One hand paused where he could feeling bandages hidden under Jon’s furs and leathers.

 

“You let a southerner injure you?” He said, his bushy red eyebrows wiggling  incredulously  at him.

  

Jon rolled his eyes, “Daenerys isn’t sitting on the Iron Throne, her general took exception to my part in it.”

  

Tormund examined him, his eyes searching for something on his face. It was  probably  something only those who knew Jon would even know what to look for. Jon wasn't good at politics and hated lying, but he had learned to hide most of his emotions.   Those who knew him well and who were resistant to believing bullshit (  namely  Tormound, and his sisters) could still read him . Sam could read him about half the time, but he was gullible when it came to Jon - too trusting.

 

“You crazy fucker, you killed the Dragon Queen.”

 

“I did what I had to do,” he said, looking down. It had been necessary, the woman who’d won the throne had not been the woman he’d bent the knee to. The woman he'd thought he could trust. It hadn’t been the first time he’d broken a vow, but he hoped it would be the last. What would his father think of him now? His father, the honorable Ned Stark who’d been the one to name Jaime Lannister the King Slayer. Would he understand why Jon had done it, if he were alive?

 

Or would his new name be Jon the Queen Slayer? He shoved that thought away, looking back up to see Tormund frowning at him.

 

“If you did it, it needed doing.” Tormund said, tugging him forward into a rough hug, “and now that it’s done, you finally realized where you belong.”

 

Jon gripped him back, “don’t suppose the free folk camp is nearby and there’s a place where I can sleep for a few days?”

  

Tormund barked out a laugh, “didn’t know you were coming, you’ll bunk with me.” He glanced around at Jon's campsite, "it'll be an improvement over this."

 

He didn’t argue, his eyes slipped closed as he lent into his big friend, trusting him to carry his weight.

  

Ghost came up behind him, tall enough now to head butt Jon’s shoulder. His solid warmth rested there, chasing away the chill.

 

Standing there, wet with snow and pressed between his dire wolf and Tormund, Jon knew he’d finally found his place in the world . A place where his parentage didn’t matter and where no one would ask him to lead or sit on an iron chair.

 

It had taken him years of bloody wars and headache-inducing politics, but he was home.

  

He was free.

 

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. I'm working on two other game of thrones fics. One is very Jon and Sansa heavy circa season 3 (Jon ends up in Dorne instead of the Wall and comes to Kings Landing with Oberyn) or a second fic that goes AU after Jon is brought back to life and would probably be a more blatant Jon/Tormund story. I'd love to hear if one or both of these sound interesting! :)


End file.
